Trade Secrets
by dalekchung
Summary: Alex takes a trip to America and discovers the true horrors of reality. Meanwhile, Sam and Dean uncover a little about Alex. (One-shot set after SCORPIA Rising and in Season 5)
**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ALEX RIDER. I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL.**

Trade Secrets

"This is _not_ what I had in mind when I decided to come here for vacation!" Alex growled through gritted teeth as he holstered his deadly—but apparently not deadly enough—gun at his side. For the past five minutes, he had been battling a mysterious ghost-like person. Alex couldn't quite wrap his head around it, but he swore that the bullet that he had fired had passed straight through the aggressor, leaving no mark. This ghost-thing could appear anywhere around him—behind him, in front of him, to the left, to the right. It was terrifying, and Alex could barely grab shallow breaths.

He twirled around, eyes checking expertly for the threat. When he found none, he began to rack his brain for some stored information—anything! He came up empty-handed. The only lore on ghosts he knew was what came from Harry Potter, and he certainly didn't have magic to banish the ghost or whatever.

Alex's eyes landed on an iron poker, situated by an ancient, crumbling fireplace. He should have expected it, Alex supposed as he snatched up the iron bar. The poker probably would have as much of an effect as his gun had, but somewhere in the back of his mind, a tiny piece of information tickled him. He knew from _somewhere_ that ghosts didn't like iron very much.

In his peripheral vision, Alex spotted something move. It wasn't hard to guess what it was, and it really did freak the teen out. The ghost, a man in his late thirties, wearing completely white clothes (except for the very dark bloodstain on his abdomen and around his slit throat) and shackles around his ankles, shuffled forward. Even though he moved slowly, Alex knew the ghost posed a threat. His multiple near death experiences proved it.

Alex swung out with the iron poker, backing up as the ghost got too close for comfort. It moved out of the way just in time, smiling eerily at him.

Behind him, the door burst open with a heavy _thud!_ Alex sucked in a breath of surprise, attention diverted to the new threat.

The ghost was smart and took full advantage of Alex's divided attention. It lunged forward, knocking Alex down on the ground. The iron poker was knocked forcefully from his hand, either from the force of his fall or from the ghost, Alex didn't know.

"Oh, crap!" Someone shouted from above him. Someone human. Alex thanked God for that. He could only pray that this person knew how to deal with this ghost.

 _BAM!_

The ghost promptly dissolved into nothing as the person who entered shot it. Alex scrambled up, coughing at the smell of gunpowder and… was that salt all over him?

"You okay?"

The man in the doorway was the same height as Alex. He wore a thick leather jacket. Short, dark blonde hair and shadowed eyes were the most prominent. He was well-muscled, much like Alex himself, which instantly put him on high alert. If the man was a threat, Alex was looking at a tough fight in front of him, even more so because he was just battling a _ghost._

Alex cleared his throat, stilling the shaking in his body, "I-I'm fine. What the bloody hell was that?"

"Ghost," the man explained shortly. "We have to get out of here, okay? I'll explain to you later, but it's not safe here. My brother is dealing with it."

Alex knew that tone, which left no room for argument. He had been subjected to that a few times and wasn't looking forward to being treated like that again, but he listened, picking up the iron poker and trailing after the man.

"I'm Dean, by the way," the man told him as they crept cautiously through the abandoned hallways. Alex was sure that this hotel used to be grand and beautiful.

"Ian," Alex replied, his instincts kicking in. He might be frightened, but he wasn't _stupid._

"Okay Ian, this is what you're going to do," Dean paused. "You're going to run outside as fast as you can. Don't look back, and don't stop for anything. Go!"

Alex, frustration about his inability to understand what was happening rolling up, shook his head adamantly. He gripped his iron poker, "What are you going to do, then? You're not _staying_ are you?"

Dean narrowed his eyes, gesturing with his gun, "Get out of here!"

Alex didn't back down, "What are you going to do? How do you get rid of those things?"

The man sighed wearily, his eyes searching the empty hallway, "I don't have time for this." He began his walk again, "Look, that psychopathic ghost wants to kill us, so we have to kill it first."

Alex gave him an odd look, which he didn't see. Could ghosts die if they were already dead?

"My brother and I, we're looking for something that might have been left behind. A lock of hair, a flap of skin. Thing is, we can't find _anything,"_ Dean's voice was filled with frustration.

Alex's mind wandered to when he had first set foot in the hotel. One of his leads—alright, so his 'vacation' wasn't actually a vacation; sue him—had led him there, and he'd spent the most part of the day exploring each room before the sun set. That was when the front door had slammed shut and the ghost had begun chasing him around. Alex was stuck.

He faintly recalled a room on the second floor—Room 207—which looked like a fight had taken place in it. Broken furniture, broken mirrors, and a huge bloodstain on the white rug.

"Do bloodstains count?" Alex asked.

Dean turned, eyebrows drawn in concentration, "Yes, actually. Where is it?"

"Room 207," he stated, moving forward to show the way.

"Two-oh-seven?" Dean muttered behind him. Alex peered at his face curiously. "That explains it."

It explained nothing for Alex, but he didn't say anything as Dean reached into his pocket and dialed a number, no doubt to his brother.

Alex was careful to step over the mess he'd made in the attempt to escape the ghost. He'd knocked over a bunch of items, hoping they'd stop the mysterious figure, which it obviously hadn't.

They were getting close, and when Alex mentioned it, Dean gripped his gun tighter, "He doesn't want us to destroy him, so he's probably going to attack us."

His predictions proved right when the ghost popped up directly in front of Alex, his mouth open in a silent scream. Up close, it really wasn't hard to see why. His vocal chords were cut up, like someone had tried to slit his throat.

Alex reacted by letting a battle cry and swiping his iron poker through the ghost. He could sense the urgency in the air. They had to act fast before the ghost could come back.

"Let's go!" Alex ushered Dean into the room, "I'll cover you!"

Alex wasn't sure what Dean would do, but he seemed to be some kind of expert on these things. For only the time being, he would trust the older man.

The ghost made another reappearance, snaring furiously, his arms outstretched like one of those typical mummy movies. Alex swiped at him fearlessly, and the ghost disappeared.

"Whatever you're doing, hurry up!" Alex shouted at Dean, as the ghost popped up a few steps away.

Behind him, Alex heard liquid sloshing, and something sand-like pouring out, but he didn't dare take his eyes off of the ghost.

 _Click._

He knew that sound was a lighter. Was Dean setting fire to the place?

The ghost lunged forth, faster than humanly possible, but even as it did, Alex knew it was over. The ghost's fingers and toes went first, fire lapping at it ferociously. With its last silent scream, it shriveled up from sight, leaving no trace of its existence behind.

Dean appeared, sweating profusely from the heat, "It's over—we have to go. Now."

This time, Alex obeyed, dropping the iron poker and running after Dean. Within moments, fire consumed the room and was moving out into the hallway.

They flew down the stairs and through the front entrance, where a black Impala—Alex couldn't tell what year it was—waited patiently, a tall man leaning on its side, worriedly checking his phone every three seconds.

"What the hell was that?" Alex couldn't help but let his question burst through his sore, dry throat.

Dean offered him a flask, and when Alex raised his eyebrows questioningly, he said matter-of-factly, "it's water."

Alex nodded gratefully and drank.

Both Dean and his brother seemed to study him as he did so, their faces impassive. It set off alarms in his head, and Alex instantly dropped it, hands flying to his gun, "What did you do to the drink? Have you poisoned me?"

Both Dean and his brother backed up quickly, their hands in the air.

"Dude!" Dean complained, "I just saved your life!"

Alex did nothing but narrow his eyes back at him and demand once more, "What did you _do?"_

The other man took a slightly different approach, "Hey, let's talk this out—just put the gun down. No one has to get hurt."

Alex let out a short burst of air, cocking the gun threateningly.

"Okay, okay! It was holy water. You know, uh, to check if you're a demon," Dean's brother told him quickly.

"Bullshit," Alex spat out, the grip on his gun tightening. "Tell me the truth."

"Look," Dean spouted back, just as aggressively, "That thing back there? A ghost. If I didn't haul your sorry ass out of there, you would've died in there."

Alex didn't lower his gun. He retorted sharply, "Funny. I faintly recall _me_ covering _your_ arse!"

"Calm down, okay?" Dean's brother held out his hands, "My name is Sam Winchester, and this is my brother Dean. We're hunters. Hunters of the supernatural. Back there? That ghost? It was supernatural. That's why we're here."

Alex glared suspiciously, but sweeping another searching glance, he deemed that they were telling the truth—or at least they believed they were telling the truth. They were probably crazy, but then again, Alex had seen the ghost too. He lowered his gun slowly.

"Okay," he drew out the word, "Say that I believe you. Now what? I have to live with the knowledge that creatures like _those,"_ he flapped a hand back at the burning building, "exist?"

The brothers exchanged looks, but it was Dean who spoke, "Forget us and about all of this. Go back to your family, back to your apple-pie life. Don't dig any deeper. You won't be able to get out."

Alex stared uncomprehendingly at the man.

"Let's take this someplace else," Sam gently cut in, gesturing to the building. Alex could see the flames spreading. Soon the whole building would collapse.

They sped away in the Impala, Alex sitting awkwardly in the backseat.

"Let's stop by for something to eat," Sam suggested in the frosty silence. "It's been a long day."

"You're telling me," Alex snorted softly, crossing his arms. He didn't wait for anyone to acknowledge what he said, "So? What am I supposed to do? Live a normal life? Too late for that, mate."

Alex caught Dean's eyes in the rearview mirror. He could easily read the disbelief in them.

"What?" Alex growled indignantly, "You think it's normal for seventeen-year-olds to run around with guns and knives? For fuck's sake, who wants to hang around a creepy, abandoned hotel for fun?"

"The what do you do?" Sam questioned, turning back to look at the blonde spy. Alex held Dean's gaze for another moment before turning away.

"Not your business," Alex retorted as they pulled up into a little diner. He was the first one out of the stuffy car, but Sam led them in.

They took a secluded corner. Dean and Sam took one side of the table and Alex, the other. It might have been intimidating for any other person, but Alex was used to facing much more powerful people.

"You're seventeen," Dean stated flatly, his green eyes flashing with repressed anger, "What the hell are you doing with your life? Where are your parents?"

They quieted as the waiter approached. The three ordered before returning to the topic at hand.

"My life has already been plotted out for me," Alex sneered, "No escape from what I'm already neck-deep in. My parents are dead. No guardians either. I'm on my own."

The brothers shot him sympathetic looks. Perhaps they could empathize. Alex wondered if they'd lost their parents too.

They ate in silence. At some points, it felt like Sam and Dean were communicating silently, but Alex was polite enough not to pry.

The bell above the door jingled softly. Alex looked up curiously and cautiously. So what if he'd just discovered that supernatural beings existed? He was on duty. He was _always_ on duty. He could never, ever catch a break.

Two perfectly normal (in appearance at least) men walked in, decked out in black clothing. Alex, his trained eyes seeing much more—the bulge of a gun—tensed, his own hands reaching out for his gun.

The pair stopped in the middle of the diner, eyes searching for their target, which Alex knew had to be him.

"Attention, please," one of the men called out imperiously. He lifted his gun, pointing it at the security camera, and fired. Someone screamed.

Sam and Dean were tensed too, and Alex was sure they had their weapons out too. He shot them a warning look. The brothers gave him the exact same 'are you crazy?' look, but backed off.

"If Alex Rider could come with us," the same man said, calm and collected, "No one has to get hurt."

Alex contemplated on not moving for a fraction of a second. He hated being called out like this. Besides, someone was inevitably going to die. It was just a fact.

Someone's muffled sob brought Alex back to his senses. He rose, taking quick steps to meet the men in the center of the diner. He had his gun up, trained on the men.

"Great," the man said brightly, "if you could place your weapons down and come with us."

Alex shot him a deadly glare, "No can do. I'm past that stage of my life. I don't fancy getting interrogated."

"You don't have a choice," the man pointed his own gun at him. Behind him, the other man was holding his gun stiffly, silently threatening a family in a corner.

Alex's eyes slid past the men with the gun, locking gazes with the father of the family, holding and sheltering his children tightly. He was pleading with his tear-filled eyes.

He put down the gun.

"Very good," the man told him, lowering his gun as well. The other man mirrored his actions. "Now then, let's go." He gestured to the door with the nozzle of his gun.

"I don't—" Alex tried to play the defeated hero, but it was just too good. He had a plan, just like he always did. Alex cleared his throat, a smirk sliding itself onto his face, "I don't think so, buddy."

He propelled himself forward, launching all of his weight onto the man, who went down. His momentum carried him further, to the other man, who had begun to lift his gun again. With a deft kick, the gun flew out of the man's hand. Alex drew back his arm and punched the guy across the face before he could react. It knocked him out cold.

Alex turned, wasting no time in darting forward. The first man was reaching out for his gun, scrambling onto his feet as he did so. The sight of the loaded barrel didn't faze him. He reached forward, jerking the gun upwards, just as the man fired. A spray of sparks and shattered glass rained around them, and Alex fought for control. The man wasn't letting go. He was fighting to place the nozzle of the gun on any part of Alex's body, but Alex was fighting too. Another bullet whizzed past his head and embedded itself in the wall.

"You little fucker!" Alex snarled, grabbing at the man's wrist. Jerking down with all his strength, Alex heard a sharp _pop_ accompanied by the man's cry of pain. The gun dropped, and with a nimble hand, Alex caught it, simultaneously lashing out at the man's legs until he fell onto his back.

Alex pointed the gun at the man's head, growling, "Who sent you?"

The man let out a strangled cry as Alex dug his heel into the man's leg. He shook his head, making pleading noises. Alex wasn't going to have any of that. He applied more pressure until the man cried, "SCORPIA! SCORPIA sent me!"

Alex released the pressure, but kept the gun level with the man's head, "SCORPIA is _dead,"_ he snapped heatedly, "Who are you working for?"

The man cried out in pain once more as the pressure returned back to his leg, "You might have disassembled the European faction," he spat, "but in America, we're still kicking and screaming. CIA doesn't know how to deal with us. You don't know how to deal with us. We're an epidemic."

Alex sneered down at the man, who was attempting to wiggle out of his grasp. He brought down the butt of his gun on the man's head, and immediately, he went still, knocked unconscious.

Alex stepped back, looking around. The family was still huddled in the corner. The waitresses and waiters were peering at him from behind the counter. Sam and Dean were halfway out of their seats, staring at him in surprise.

"So," Dean was the first to straighten, "'Ian', huh?"

Alex's lips reflexively curled upward at the man's tone. He nodded in agreement before turning away and searching his pockets for his phone, "Excuse me," he told the brothers smoothly, "I have to call my superiors."

Before the two could protest, Alex was out the door, the bell jingling softly. He called over his shoulder, "Adios, amigos!"

He melted into the night.

* * *

 **A/N:** Yes? No? I started this fanfic a couple of weeks ago (...uh when I was on season 3?), but I thought I needed a little more time with Sam and Dean to capture their personalities properly. I'm not sure if I was successful, but here you go! Hope you liked. Leave a review, please!

-Alice x


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